


In My Blood Like Holy Wine

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Cunnilingus, F/F, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is lovely; anyone with eyes can see it. Tall and willowy, with a face like the Maiden she prays to sometimes and a body that the men around her covet openly, no matter that she's barely more than a girl and far too delicate to be pleased by their brutish attentions. None of those men know how beautiful she can be. None of them see her the way Shae does now, spread open across her bed all pink and cream and auburn, squirming and pleading for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Blood Like Holy Wine

It's something maids do for their ladies all the time. At least that's what Shae tells Sansa. For all she knows it's true: she's as much a real lady's maid as she is Westerosi, so perhaps this _does_ happen among ladies and their maids. From what Shae has heard about the Tyrell girl, she wouldn't be surprised.

But for Shae, the truth is simply that she wants to do it. There aren't many things she can say that about in her life, and even fewer of them in the bedroom, so the freedom to do precisely as she wants for once is intoxicating.

Sansa is lovely; anyone with eyes can see it. Tall and willowy, with a face like the Maiden she prays to sometimes and a body that the men around her covet openly, no matter that she's barely more than a girl and far too delicate to be pleased by their brutish attentions. None of those men know how beautiful she can be. None of them see her the way Shae does now, spread open across her bed all pink and cream and auburn, squirming and pleading for more.

"Please, Shae," she pants, pulling at Shae's hair, widening her legs until her knees touch the mattress on either side of her, "oh gods, _please_."

"Greedy little thing," Shae says fondly. "Wanton, gorgeous girl." She laps at Sansa's wet cunt, crooking the fingers curved inside her to seek and stroke. With a strangled cry, Sansa arches off the bed, her fists yanking at the linens and her toes curling on Shae's sides. Part of her thinks she should feel guilty. Not for herself, not because of Tyrion, but for Sansa, for taking advantage of her like this.The girl is nothing more than a glorified prisoner here, destined to be given to someone as marriage chattel for an alliance that will benefit everyone but her. But then that's exactly why Shae _doesn't_ feel guilty; better to give her what pleasure she can wring from life now. Better to show her how things _can_ be before she's disappointed by learning how they _are_.

She's surprisingly quiet as she peaks, as if the tightening of her body in pleasure constricts her voice as well. Shae has to listen for cues in the stutter of her breathing, the weight of her exhale. She sets her tongue flat against her, soothing her, steadying her, tasting her as she rides it out with jerks and twitches and sighs. Then Shae starts again, as greedy for more as Sansa is, unable to quit no matter how much she knows she should. But then that's what makes it an addiction, she supposes, and oh, Shae is addicted.

She lifts her head to watch Sansa as she comes down, admiring the rise and fall of her breasts, the pink flush at her throat, her belly, her knees. Her eyes look dazed, starry, and there's a look of sleepy pleasure on her face, as if for just a moment she can forget everything: the Lannisters, the war in the world beyond, all the machinations and hazards her life has become. Shae's nearly as addicted to that look as she is to the rest of it. She'd been a reluctant lady's maid, accepting the position only at Tyrion's urging – at his insistence, really, another thing she had little choice in. She'd never expected to love Sansa as she does. She'd never expected to want her like this. She'd never expected to _have_ her like this.

"If this really is something ladies do with their maids," Sansa says, still panting, her mouth curving into a lazy, sated smile, "I'm amazed any ladies ever leave their keeps." Her eyes dart down to Shae's and darken again. Shae wonders what sort of picture she presents to Sansa, with her hair mussed by Sansa's hands, her lips shining with Sansa's pleasure, her eyes soft with adoration. Sansa reaches out to draw one gentle fingertip over Shae's mouth and then slips it between Shae's lips, her tongue touching her upper lip when Shae closes her mouth around Sansa's finger and sucks the taste of her off it.

"Or their bedchambers," she adds. Her knees fall open a little wider, she slouches back onto the bed a little more, and Shae recognizes an invitation when she sees it, but still she wants to ask. She knows what it is to never be asked what you want.

She presses a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other. "Another?" she asks.

"Another," Sansa sighs happily, a dreamy smile on her face, as if she's just as addicted as Shae. Shae smiles and lowers her head once more. Addictions must be fed.


End file.
